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<title>Distant Memory by harrietdowlinglovebot</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657660">Distant Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietdowlinglovebot/pseuds/harrietdowlinglovebot'>harrietdowlinglovebot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietdowlinglovebot/pseuds/harrietdowlinglovebot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'You look just like him, y' know.'<br/>Handsome. Suave. Stylish.<br/>He was like that. Looked after himself but with an air of ease; he didn't go overboard, smelling like a department store, but he was fresh.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crowley/Sergeant Shadwell (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Distant Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong><em>'You look just like him, y' know.'</em></strong><br/>
<br/>
Handsome. Suave. Stylish. <br/>
<br/>
<em>He</em> was like that. Looked after <em>himself</em> but with an air of ease; <em>he</em> didn't go overboard, smelling like a department store, but <em>he</em> was fresh. <br/>
<br/>
Shadwell met <em>him</em> by chance, an advert in the paper. He showed up, thinking it would be an easy job; they needed a locksmith and he was ready for his Army to advertise. And, that, he did- outside of the club he frequented, not-so-subtly taking in the lithe form of the red-head under those sultry neon lights, the pinks and reds like the imagery of Shakespearean 'fumes of sighs'. <em>His</em> mysterious-self hidden behind dark shields, blocking the rest of the world from <em>his</em> thoughts and feelings; Shadwell's endless curiosity was piqued. <br/>
<br/>
It was satiated within a few hours. The red-head returned, looking far from how <em>he</em> did when they first met. The first thing the Witchfinder noticed was the trembling in the red-head's fingers as he passed over the glass of whisky, watching as <em>he</em> tentatively took the double and knocked it back. Something had happened. They both looked over to the girls on the poles with disinterest, neither of them there for patronage. It was only alcohol that they both sought. Neither of them wanted anything more. <br/>
<br/>
They didn't speak a word to each other for most of the night, just knocked back drink after drink until the room around them grew smaller and their views were only of one another. Shadwell could see the sunglasses were slipping off <em>his</em> nose and he swore the eyes beneath were golden; it was the effect of alcohol. Just like it was the effect when the red-head brought a flame towards the Witchfinder, lighting the cigarette at his lips without taking <em>his</em> gaze from their shared one; the wisps of smoke curling between them in the air, more fumes fuelling the fires that were igniting. It was the effect when the red-head stood and sauntered, drunkenly, away, silently drawing Shadwell to follow like a spell cast upon him. <br/>
<br/>
It hurt to remember...<br/>
To think of the soft touches and callous fingers, the warmth of flesh and damp kisses. There uniting of bodies and emotions, yet still, there was a barrier; those sunglasses. Shadwell didn't dare take them off the other, nor did he ask. He knew it was a boundary to be uncrossed. Yet despite that, the connection was sealed during a drunken tryst in a dingy hotel room, lit by the neon lights of the outside world. <em>He</em> was beautiful, the parts that Shadwell did see, though the red-head faced away during their embrace. He remembered <em>his</em> scent and taste, the tensing of muscles in his body and gripping of fingers. The room filled with a chorus of breaths and whispers until their bodies took over, and it was finished. <br/>
<br/>
There were no cuddles. No talking. Just breathing. <br/>
<br/>
When morning came, <em>he</em> was gone. Left only a distant memory, their joined scents, disposable, upon the pillows and sheets, and an aching in his heart. Nothing had it beating quite as <em>he</em> did. <br/>
<br/>
From then on, Shadwell was there for <em>him</em>, through all that he could be, whenever <em>he</em> needed him. And then for <em>his</em> son, when came along; looking so much like <em>him</em>. He would always be there for that family. <br/>
<br/>
Despite any attempt at rekindling, littering the decades with letters, phone calls; it never worked. It was empty, a shell of what could have been, that night. <br/>
But Shadwell knew, though. <br/>
<br/>
He knew well, that he wasn't the one. </p>
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